Fractured
by Twilight Cabaret
Summary: Fighting the War, Hermione has been taken captive by Malfoy.Note: I do not own these characters, JK Rowling does. Everything else is mine. My plot? Mine.This contains rape, violence, and allout nastiness. Please don't read if you're easily triggered.
1. Anything

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, JK Rowling/Bloomsbury Press do. The plot, however, is mine.

This has highly adult content, including rape, violence, and other assorted nastiness. Please don't read if you're easily triggered.

Hermione struggled to open her eyes, realizing that they were covered in dried blood, a result of the forehead cut that had rendered her unconscious. Obtaining a blurry understanding of her surroundings, she attempted to stand and recieved a nasty surprise. A metal strip held her bare torso to the stone wall, her head was arranged in such a way that she couldn't see it, but instead felt the icy steel against her skin. Her wrists were chained on either side of her head, the cuffs barely giving her room to move at all, and her legs were left nearly unbound, except for two razor sharp manacles, made of shining and beautiful silver, which freed rivulets of blood with every movement. Blinking her eyes several times to clear the corrosion, she again assessed her surroundings, and any hopes she'd had shriveled and died. The room was poorly lit, a single primitive chandelier illuminated the area from the center. Hermione could make out the shape of a door, towards one of the corners of the room, and several other sets of chains dangled from the surrounding walls. A chest stood against the far wall, a beautiful armoire carved ornately of ebony wood loomed ominously as she tried to dissuade herself from imagining the contents. She tried to remember, what had happened, who had brought her here, tied her up, stripped her, and knocked her out. One word came to mind.

"Malfoy." She said out loud. As if summoned by magic, the velvet voice of Draco Malfoy echoed around the room.

"Ah, Miss Granger, I would think that we'd be on slightly more personal terms by now, wouldn't you?" He teased, his playful words followed by a sadistic chuckle.

"Draco, something I will never understand is how you could just throw yourself away like that." Hermione began, attempting to mollify her captor, and prevent the inevitable.

"Now, now, Hermione!" Draco appeared in front of the shivering girl.

"You're not really going to try this, are you? Even a Mudblood cannot possibly be this asinine." He said, fixing his sharpest glare on her bloodied face.

"You've gone from 'Mudblood' to murder, Draco. You made the wrong choice! Sided with the wrong people. You were always a prat, but did you have to go this far to prove it?" She replied, daring to probe his anger with an acid tongue.

"Wrong side, Granger? As I see it, I am not the one in chains, bleeding, naked, with no one to speak of rushing to my aid. I've chosen the wrong side? Check your answer. This will be on the test." Draco strode over to the chest, running an ivory finger along the intricate carvings.

"Where is she?" Hermione asked meekly, as if resigned on her attempts to aid her captor.

"I take 'she' to mean the Weasley girl, Ginny. Correct?" Draco extracted a short dagger from the chest, testing the edge on the doors.

"Yes." She answered, abandoning all pretense of bravado. If ever she needed Draco to understand, to allow a glimmer of decency to penetrate his black aura, she needed it now.

"She's waiting." He answered simply.

"Waiting?" Fear grew in her stomach as she waited with bated breath for the answer.

"Waiting her turn."

Hermione's heart sank. It would never be enough, could never be enough. The war had taken everything from her, He had killed Harry. Harry Potter, the one constant among every variable of her life, Harry would always be, had always been there, and in one second, everything changed. In one violent instant, the tables turned, and the world steeped into eternal darkness. Not Ginny too, never, no.

"I'll do-"

"Anything?" Malfoy said with a laugh, closing the chest and fingering his blade. "You'll do anything? Anything to what, save her? Spare her?"

"Yes."

"Come on, Granger. You won't even make this pleasurable, will you?" He said, stepping serenely closer.

Hermione felt her skin begin to prickle in fear, or was it something else? She didn't know, she didn't care. He could obliterate all she had left, save for Ginny.

"Anything?"

"Yes."

"Scream for me." He whispered; his breath warm on her throat as the dagger traced its path around her bare stomach, leaving behind a swelling line of scarlet in its wake.

She drew in a sharp breath, but felt herself rendered unable to speak. Draco locked eyes with her, as if daring her to fulfill his request, as he continued weaving the blade along its macabre trail, traversing her abdomen, and moving farther.

"Cat got your tongue, Mudblood?" He said, teasing, his face mere centimeters from hers. Hermione's answer came in the form of a defiant glare, and was not at all what he'd hoped for.

"I said, 'Cat got your tongue?'" He said, looking her straight in the eyes as he locked his lips to hers, displaying force, power, and passion in one action, and showing her true who was in charge.

"Mudblood." Draco finished, sliding the dagger between his teeth and removing his black coat, casting it aside.

"You really have no concept of common sense, do you, Hermione?" He asked, speech muffled by the blade, yet still domineering and sadistic as ever.

His shirt fell to the floor, and Hermione closed her eyes, allowing herself to be lost in a memory. Nothing could bring her back, she was fading, Ginny's voice was in her head, her beautiful laugh, high like bells, pealing in childlike delight as they snuck away for a moment alone. She could recall it all, the first time, how it felt, how Ginny's breath mixed with hers, nearly forming one entity, and how the euphoria seemed to last forever. Ginny's whispers lingered in her ears, and Hermione drowned her present with reminiscence of the past.

Except for the pain.

The sharp sting drew her from her reverie, and Hermione's throat closed as she willed herself to cry out. Malfoy's clothes lay on the floor, and his breath echoed in her ears, hard and quick, following his own rhythm. Her blood covered his chest, and hers, as she focused on the blurring designs glowing in her flesh. Focused on anything but him, anything but what was happening, anything but Ginny. She felt herself leaving, the pain resonating in her mind, dissociating into a dream-state, as he finished and smiled, turning his head to her ear.

"Anything?"


	2. Off to See the Wizard

An impatient foot's tapping brought Hermione back down to earth, and her eyes opened, locking once again with the mesmerizing ones of her captor. Pain let her know that what she prayed she'd dreamt had been, in fact, real, and she suppressed the urge to bawl as she gazed into Malfoy's painfully gorgeous face.

"Good morning, lover." He sneered, reaching up to unlock her wrists from their chains. Her feet, she noticed, had been freed for some time. As her arms relaxed from their rigid upright position, she fell into Malfoy's, and to her surprise, he allowed her to rest against him for a moment, before standing her upright with an expression that could only be described as disgust.

"Clothes?" Hermione managed to say, her voice straining and cracking on the simple word. She was suddenly aware of how exposed she was, how vulnerable. Though, she supposed, that did not matter any longer.

Draco crossed once again to the armoire, causing Hermione's heart to sink in trepidation. Removing a skirt and blouse, he tossed the garments in her general direction, laughing at her clumsy attempt to catch them.

He stood and watched as she shakily dressed, his unblinking glare piercing and penetrating her, perpetuating the violation endlessly. As she finished, he turned for the door, expecting her to follow.

"Granger?" He said, turning back to face her.

"I can't walk." She stated, matter-of-factly, and proving this true by attempting to take a step and swaying dangerously on the spot, before collapsing to the stone floor.

With a self-satisfied chuckle, Malfoy swept across the room and picked her up, not bothering to preserve her modesty by adjusting the skirt as it rode up her marred legs as he gracefully traversed the dungeon and lighted up the stairway that Hermione hadn't noticed, concealed by shadows.

The sunlight sent a searing pain through Hermione's head, having adjusted herself to the cloying near-darkness of her prison, and she saw that it was a typical April day. A clear cyan sky hung above them, and a light warm wind teased and played with her bloodstained brown curls. Turning her head from Draco's chest, Hermione could see that they were far from civilization, and had been in the cellar of a once-magnificent estate. Surrounded by an orchard of blooming apple trees, the scene appeared almost serene; a brilliant façade for the macabre chamber beneath. He set her down, almost gently, on the grass, and squatted in front of her, careful to dissuade his coat from touching the ground.

"You'll live." He said at last, giving her injuries the once-over.

"Thanks for the concern." Hermione haughtily replied, adjusting her skirt in an attempt to cover the exposed skin.

"For a smart girl, you learn at the rate of a monkey in a vegetative state." He said with a sneer. Apparently Mudbloods don't stay broken for long, he thought to himself. Must look into that.

"I'm sorry." She replied, gazing at her hands, folded in her lap.

"We'll test that theory later. Come now, we don't have much time for this." Malfoy rose to his feet.

"Where are we going?" Hermione said, as she attempted to stand, and failed.

"You really are pathetic." Draco scooped her up easily, like a child, and began walking. Hermione restated her question;

"Where are we going?"

"To see him."

"Who?"

"The entire reason you're here."


	3. Into the Woods

"When do I find out who exactly that reason is?" Hermione asked, fidgeting in Draco's grip.

"You'll see." He said, stopping for a second to reach for his wand.

"What are you doing?!" She attempted to get away from him, but in her incapacitated state, failed miserably.

"You can't see how to get where we're going." He replied in a bored tone, pointing the wand at her eyes.

"_Obscuro_." Hermione's vision instantly blurred and swam, manipulating her surroundings into nothing but a foggy mess. Holding a hand in front of her face, Draco asked;

"How many fingers?"

"Four." She replied, squinting.

"One. Good enough." He again carelessly bundled the girl in his arms and started off through the orchard, not speaking again until they entered a thick forest at the end of the apple trees.

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in a song." Draco mused, bored for lack of amusement.

"Let's not make this anymore painful than it has to be, shall we?" Hermione said, regretting it the instant she finished.

"She cautions a sadist against pain." Draco dropped her to the forest floor, bothering not to be delicate with her injuries.

"You'd be better off if you learned your place, Granger. Something you clearly have ignored in the past eight years, as I see." He snarled, gripping her wrist and making healing cuts bleed once more.

"What happened to you, Draco?" She asked, again attempting to analyze her tormentor.

"_Silencio_." He replied, with a smirk.

"It does me no good to have you uttering sound, unless it's screaming; and then, it's pretty much only when I'm causing it."

Hermione fixed a decidedly nasty glare on a tree five inches to the left of Draco's head, causing him to double over with laughter.

"You really are pathetic." He picked her up once more and continued down the path, dense with undergrowth. As the brambles pulled and tore at his coattails, his mind traveled far from the forest.

"What happened to you?" Echoing in his mind, he recalled exactly what had happened to him.

"Never say a word." He heard the voice ringing in his head. A Chocolate Frog to forget the night, that's all it took, all it ever did. His eleventh birthday brought joy, until arriving at school, when he saw that his nightmare would never end. Every night, it had continued, under the guise of private lessons.

He wasn't really that bad at Potions.

Having allowed himself to drift, Draco was surprised at how quickly the sun was sinking below the horizon. The blinded and mute girl in his arms had fallen asleep along the way, and he shook her awake, setting her on the ground beneath a large tree.

"_Finite incantatem_." He quietly broke his spells, and she coughed in surprise, regaining her voice.

"Would it be cliché to ask 'Are we there yet?'" She quipped, folding her legs underneath her and adjusting the skirt for modesty.

"That spell can just as easily be put back on, Hermione." He said, leaning against the tree trunk and staring at the blood-red horizon.

"Fine." She replied, almost petulantly, focusing on her fingernails and trying to clean the blood from underneath them.

"If you're going to sulk, at least let me give you a reason to do so." Draco drawled, enjoying the sour green her aura tinted in fear.

The pair sat in stillness for some time, as the moon rose and bathed the darkened wood in a milky glow.

"You may ask me one question, and one question only, if naught but to penetrate this cloying din." Malfoy broke the silence in a bored tone, curious to see what the girl would come up with.

Hermione's mind surged with questions, all vying for the chance to be posed. While desperate to know where she was going, Malfoy's avoidance of the subject earlier told her that wasting her one question on that would be futile. Instead, she allowed the most desperate query to hang in the air.

"Where is she?"

"I thought you'd ask that." Draco allowed himself a pause, for dramatic effect, before continuing.

"I assume you mean Ginny."

"Yes." Hermione would take no chances with insolence now.

"I would assume that she is right where I left her." He said, a loathsome smirk curling the edges of his lips.

"You're a bastard." She stated matter-of-factly, her voice shaking with anger. At this, Draco lunged and pinned the weakened girl beneath him.

"You seriously have got to be the most witless bitch in the magical world, Hermione Granger." He snarled, holding her hands down to the ground with his own and piercing the flesh with sharpened fingernails.

She allowed a pained whimper to escape her throat, realizing almost instantly her idiocy.

"That did not hurt." Draco removed a blade from a sheath in his sleeve, cutting a four inch gash in her forearm, deep enough to reveal fat.

"That, on the other hand…"

"Draco!" A voice boomed from behind Malfoy and Hermione.

"Might have." Draco finished, turning to face the source of the scolding voice.

"Were you, or were you not, instructed to bring her straight to me?"

"Yes, Father."


	4. Castle in the Sky

A/N: Short chapter, I apologize. A certain girlfriend is relentless at attaining her update, so here it is. Happy New Year, everyone, and thanks so much for the reviews! TC

Lucius glowered down at his son, who promptly rose, relieving Hermione of his weight, and sank to one knee in front of his patron. Hearing Hermione whimpering, he turned and his lips curled in a smile as he saw the blood pooling under the hand held carefully over her wound, seeping through her fingers and running down her arm.

Noticing, Lucius chuckled.

"You'll be fine." He said amusedly, "Draco…quite the softhearted boy. Pity, really." Hermione continued staring at the blood streaming out of her cut, and began to shake as her breathing quickened.

"Oh, do stop that. It's pathetic." Lucius crossed to the quivering girl, his cloak whipping ominously through the air as he swooped down to her level. Grabbing her arm in one ivory hand, he smiled as she cried out in pain.

"I reiterate. You'll live. Get up." Standing, Lucius glowered down at Hermione, waiting for her compliance.

"I said 'Get up.'." He restated, his tone tinged with annoyance.

Hermione attempted to rise to her feet, but found herself on the ground once again.

"How long can this possibly last?" Draco asked, now annoyed by her incapacitation.

A glare from Lucius silenced him. Draco had disobeyed, and the lack of remorse was obvious. Ah, well. Lucius would fix that.

Picking up the trembling girl, Draco turned to his father, expecting him to lead the way. Lucius instead stood still, looking lost in thought.

"No, this won't do. Not at all."

"What won't?"

"The whimpering. I refuse to walk anywhere with that incessant whinging."

Draco fished for his wand with a free hand.  
"No, no no. Not that way, you twat." Lucius pulled a length of cloth from a pocket within his robes and forced it into Hermione's mouth.

"Ah…that's better."

Her eyes widened in fear.

"Get used to it." Draco muttered, eyeing his father's back as he turned and started walking through the woods, white hair and ebony cloak billowing out behind him. He raised his wand once again and muttered;

"_Obscuro._"

A moonlit walk through a forest could be almost alluring, thought Draco as the trio traipsed silently on their path. It's really a pity, he finished, shifting Hermione's weight across his arms as he saw the tree layers begin to thin out. The scene made a swell of nostalgia wash over him, as he recalled the days before the War, his days of school. In those days (and nights), one could hear the hooves of centaurs, the clicking pinschers of Aragog's clan, and the capers of various forest inhabitants. Now, though, the night brought an eerie din, the residents of the Forbidden Forest having been collateral damage in various battles.

_Aw, is widdle Dwaco missing his fwends? _A voice taunted in his head.

_Fuck you. Get out of my head. _Draco retorted, almost instantly regretting the riposte.

_Behave, boy. Your account is already overdrawn. I shall collect the debt...and soon._

_Is that a threat?_

Draco's mind was silent for a moment as he concentrated on clearing his mind, to block out the invasion.

_It's a promise. _

He felt the presence leave his consciousness and was again alone, for all intents and purposes. A very good Occlumens, Draco had one weakness. His stomach filled with dread as he thought of it, and observed the scene of their arrival.

A carriage drawn by two thestrals halted in front of them, and as they boarded, Draco could see their destination not far into the distance.

Hogwarts Castle loomed ahead, turrets illuminated in eerie halos by the shining gibbous moonlight.


	5. Lessons

Pulling up to the arcane building, the three disembarked the carriage in silence, and approached the cloaked and hooded figure awaiting them at the main door. A once beautiful place, Hogwarts School's exterior had become desolate. Statues and other such ornaments had long been decimated by the two years of fighting, and the building's stone walls were marred and chipped with the pockmarks of errant curses. A shadow of gloom hung in the air, shrouding the castle and all within its perimeters in an aura of melancholy.

"It's good to be home." Lucius sighed, breathing in as if inhaling the long-missed air at one's summer retreat.

Draco looked down at his charge, who had either drifted into sleep, or blacked out, he could not be sure. Either way, the girl lay sprawled unconsciously across his arms, her wound still weeping scarlet liquid, her lips dangerously pale. The welcoming committee stood silently, as Death awaiting the next move in the ultimate game of chess, and nodded placidly, turning to head into the building. Indicating for his son to follow, Lucius entered the once-magnificent double doors, his lips curled in a sadistic smirk. Draco followed wordlessly, not entirely sure of what awaited them, yet finding his curiosity perversely piqued.

The cloaked stranger led them into what had been the Great Hall, which now served as a parlor, in its current state. Lucius nodded towards an oak table, where Draco carelessly placed the (still) unconscious Hermione.

"Oh, do something about that, would you? The stranger indicated Hermione's bleeding arm.

"I'd really rather not scrub blood from that table again." Uncloaking herself, she turned to face Lucius, who regarded her with a slow smile.

"Of course, Bella. Wouldn't want to add to your duties, now would we?" A playful twinkle flitted in and out of his cold steel eyes.

"Draco, remove the gag and make yourself useful." The twinkle was gone in an instant as he regarded his progeny.

Draco cleared the spit-coated fabric from Hermione's mouth and bound it tightly around his handiwork. Noting her ashen pallor, he drawled:

"Are you alive?"

"Leave her be, boy. She'll awaken in time. You have elsewhere to be, do you not?" His father's cold tone rung in his ears.

The voice he'd heard earlier still pealed in his ears, reminding him that Lucius was right. He did have a prior engagement, and it'd be a pity to delay it.

Walking through the barren corridors, Draco noticed the lack of motion within the artwork along the walls. What canvases remained intact had long since lost their inhabitants, assumedly, they'd scurried away to wherever it is 2-D figures seek shelter. Getting where he needed to go, Draco did as he always did and focused, hard, on what he wanted. No, not what he wanted. What He wanted. As if by magic, a door appeared along one wall, and Draco slipped in.

"Have you not heard of knocking?" A voice drawled lazily from the shadows.

"It hardly seemed necessary."

"Silly boy, the owner of the voice began approaching. "Cordiality is always necessary. I could have been preoccupied. Then where would we have been? The things your fragile child's mind could have seen. Gasp. Traumatizing."

A tall man stepped from the din, revealing himself as none other than Severus Snape. The War had left nothing unchanged, and the former Potions master was no exception. Once lank hair now shone and tumbled down his back in ebony waves, and sallow complexion had cleared itself, being replaced with a healthy sheen. His eyes glittered as he eyed his young charge, their ominous raven hue piercing everything they fixated upon.

"Just for curiosity's sake, what would happen if someone did indeed walk past that wall with intentions other than sadistic liaisons with the General of the Damned?" Draco asked, nonchalantly perusing the shelves decorated with clanking instruments of restraint.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Draco." Snape replied softly.

"Oh, so that's what happened to Mrs. Norris? Here and I'd thought that was you."

"You have until I decide whether that was humor, or sheer cheek, to recant and repent, my darling boy." The sinister eyes shone brighter as his glare reflected the candlelight. Snape stepped towards Draco, almost seductively, as he "decided" the intent of the remark.

"I recant." Draco said simply, not daring to look his Master in the eye.

"Good boy." Snape's expression lightened drastically, his lips curving into a sly smile.

_Must we bother with such formality? _Again, he spoke to Draco's mind, and Draco's mind alone.

_After all, pet, it has been long enough. You'd think a bright boy like you would simply…assume._

Draco sighed resignedly, knowing that Snape actually had a coherent point.

_Good boy. You know you're only prolonging the inevitable. _The smile grew wider, baring sharpened ivory teeth.

Malfoy sneered as he disrobed, draping his heavy black trenchcoat over a chair and feeling a shiver come over his body as he sensed Snape's hawk eyes watching him.

_When did it become your place to tease me? _An angry voice sounded in his head as Snape suddenly gripped his waist and spun him around, tearing his shirt from his torso in one fluid motion. Locking eyes with his Master, Draco challenged Snape to go one step further, and further he indeed went. Off went the black pants, tossed carelessly into a corner, and Snape's elegant cloak soon came tumbling after. A deep kiss put Draco in his place, as Snape's tongue explored his mouth for what must have been the thousandth time. A shining dagger from a sheath concealed in his leather pants soon found its way out, and Draco's penance began. Three quick slashes across the chest drew shining streaks of scarlet against the white, and a simple taste drove Snape wild with euphoria. Pinning the submissive Malfoy to the floor, he shackled his wrists across each other into the chains hanging from the wall, and allowed for slight struggling as he spread the boy. Without bothering with common courtesy, Snape forced himself into Draco and fucked him until the blood ran freely, fresh wounds mixing with scars and healed wounds cracked and split under the sheer force. He heard Draco gasp, and smiled as the boy's intake of breath caused him to shudder under Snape's powerful grip, bringing Snape to release and pull out, leaving a trail of viscous fluid behind him.

His voice echoed in Draco's mind, satiated and pleasure-laden.

_Here endeth the lesson._


	6. Marquis

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone. I apologize for the time it took me to get this up, but here it is! Better, longer, and improved, as per the request of a certain maniac. TC

Draco awoke slowly, eyes blearily absorbing his surroundings, body warming to the pain echoing through his entirety. Snape sat kitty-corner to him, legs crossed, fingers laced, face poised in an expression of tranquility, akin to that of a parent observing a young child in slumber.

"You're so cute when you're sleeping." Snape said with a grin, tilting his head to the side and ogling Draco.

"You're too kind." The boy replied, struggling to a sitting position and examining his torso for evidence of the night's activities. A gash crossed his hardened stomach with a line of shining crimson, and he grimaced to find that with movement, it resumed weeping blood. The initial cuts that decorated his chest appeared to have scabbed, he noted. _These scars will be interesting_, he thought, _they look like claw marks._

"Always the clever one, aren't you, Draco? Why not bear your war-wounds with pride? Why lie about their origin?" Snape queried, frowning in mock-offense as he violated Draco's mind and read the thoughts he'd had of attributing them to errant hippogriffs.

"Honestly, I can never decide, in these situations, if the honest truth really is more shocking." Draco replied, with a resigned chuckle as he rose to his feet.

"Clothing?" He asked, noticing at last how utterly naked he was.

"Silly boy, have you forgotten where you are?" Snape laughed, crossing one leg over the other and smiling up at Draco. Their little encounters always left the older man with an almost happy feeling, even made him slightly…pleasant. It was this side-effect that kept their rendezvous' few and far between, these days.

"Oh, right." Draco replied, closing his eyes and concentrating for a moment. A small pile of clothing appeared to his left, folded neatly on a table.

"You know, amidst all of Dumbledore's bumbling acts of chicanery, this room is certainly not one of them." He mused, stepping to the table to quickly don his request of the room.

Snape scowled as he finished dressing, and Draco regretted having even thought the outfit acceptable.

"No, no. This will not do." Rising, Severus walked around Draco, eyeing the garments from head to toe. "Not at all." Raising his wand, he smiled as he completed the alterations and stepped back.

"Much better!" He crowed, admiring his handiwork.

Draco looked down and suppressed a groan. What had once been a fairly respectable outfit of loose black pants, and a black long-sleeved shirt had become far less respectable. Once cotton and baggy, his pants were now made of fine, black, Italian leather, and hugged his every curve, particularly accentuating his keen lack of underwear. The shirt had suffered less, and instead had been avulsed of its sleeves, and shrunken about two sizes, so it clung to his muscled torso like plastic wrap.

"Was that necessary?" He chided, knowing full well the answer.

"Hmm. Yes." Snape replied, running a bony finger along the teenager's upper arm. "Completely necessary." He had begun to lean in, his face mere centimeters from Draco's, when the door squeaked open, throwing a line of light, and a small shadow into their tete-a-tete.

"Uncle Severus?" A small voice piped from behind the door, where the owner stood, presumably unsure of what it would find within the room.

"Yes, Marquis, come in." Snape said, his breath warm on Draco's lips. He pulled away and turned to face the visitor.

A tiny boy, no more than 7, stood in the doorway. His skin was pale as milk, and you could see the faint outlines of blue veins criss-crossing and pulsating beneath the surface. His hair was raven black, shining blue in the light, combed neatly and parted. A black suit and tie completed his attire, and his facial expression was deathly somber, with sparkling black eyes peering up at Draco and Severus. In the right light, he did not look unlike Snape himself, or a very short undertaker.

"May we help you?" Draco said, bothering not with simple pleasantries like 'hello'.

"Uncle Severus! Mommy will not let me play." The child whined, crossing to Snape and holding his arms up in a simple gesture. Draco stiffened upon hearing the word 'Mommy'.

Snape lifted the boy and beamed at him, a gesture unreturned, for the child's face remained sullen and wan.

"Did you ask Mommy nicely, my dear child?" He asked, settling his face in an expression of ersatz seriousness.

"I did. She refuses, and today is quite petulant. May I play, Uncle?" The child pleaded, his dark eyes sparkling in the light.

"We shall have to have a little talk with Mommy then, won't we, Marquis?" Snape asked, setting the child down.

"Yes, oh yes. Mommy has been bad to-day." Marquis separated the two syllables of the last word, in an almost sing-song manner.

"So she has. Yes, you may play." Granting permission, Snape smiled as he received a kiss on the hand from the icy boy, whose face remained stony and grave, though he laughed quietly and skipped away down the corridor. They listened to his jubilant footsteps echoing off of the stone walls for a moment, before Snape turned back to Draco.

"Really, pet, you ought to stop scowling. He's a lovely child." Snape said, turning to again face the blonde.

"He unsettles me." Draco replied simply, refusing to look Snape in the eye.

"Keep behaving so, and he'll unsettle your liver, boy." Snape snarled, his tone even yet profoundly sinister. With a sharp kiss on the cheek, Snape turned and exited the room, his cloak snapping through the air behind him.

Draco sank into the armchair, wincing as his injuries touched the velvet upholstery. The child's voice echoed in his mind, and he could hear naught but Marquis' chilling sing-song tone.

"_Mommy has been bad to-day_." The words resonated, and Draco could not help it as he lost himself in memories.

_I can hear her screams through the heavy door. Father says it's nothing to fret over, and to return to my studies, but Father doesn't know. I open the door, but just barely, just enough to see, and through the slit, I see what Mama is wailing for. Her wrists are bound to the bed and she's struggling against the mattress, straining and groaning, hair in her face. Uncle stands before her, blocking me from seeing what he sees, but I see her legs spread apart and bound, and I hear him screaming at her to push. Push what, I wonder, as she screams out again, and louder. Finally a sound that's not screaming comes out, and I see It. What must have been making my mother scream so, a tiny ball of white flesh and black hair, mewling like the kitten I drowned in the lake last month, and flailing small hands, balled into fists, in the air. Mother has fallen silent now, and she watches Uncle, her eyes wide and focused, as he sponges the slime from the creature and smiles down upon it. He carries it over, lowering the squalling ball of flesh and blanket so that she can see. She turns her face away and begins to scream again, pulling, pulling, pulling on the restraints and screaming as though she's being tortured, screaming like the playthings Father says were bad in the basement, screaming like me when I've been a bad boy for Uncle. I feel cold fingers grab my wrist and haul me from my crack in the door, and I hear it slam closed with a bang as Mother's screams continue. Father's face is scarlet with fury, and so close to mine, but I can't hear what he yells. She's too loud._

Draco drifted out of his memory, shaking his head as if to reset the thoughts. His mother's madness had been dwelling dormant for months before the birth of Marquis, the apparent catalyst. Once the child came, however, her sanity evaded her completely, and reduced her to what she was now. Locked away in a former Prefect's sitting room of the school, Narcissa Malfoy spent her days in a series of moods. Sometimes screaming, sometimes convulsing from endless, causeless laughter, the woman's madness had yet to be cured by medicine or magic. I'm sure, Draco thought, her welfare being at the hands of a twisted child is completely conducive to a clean bill of health. He rested his head against the back of the chair, exhausted by the efforts both of the night before and of remembering. Dozing off, he was startled awake moments later by a sharp knock at the door.

"Yes?" He called, slightly irritated at being awoken.

"Excuse me, sir." A house-elf. Draco rolled his eyes and rose, opening to door.

"Yes?" He said again. "What is it?"

"You're wanted."

"Where?" Draco asked. These creatures were frustrating. They could never utter one efficient sentence. Messages were relayed in the length of entire conversations. Dead annoying.

"In the Playroom." The elf replied, turning with a squeak and scurrying away.

Draco sighed. Ah well, he thought, who doesn't like a little playtime?


	7. The Ladies of Malfoy Place

Fractured  
**A/N**: Sorry it's been so long, everyone. My life got a little crazy, there. Here's another chapter.  
Draco could remember his mother's days of glory, when she stood proudly at her husband's side, as she had in the elegant photograph hung regally over the main fireplace. Narcissa Malfoy, _nee_ Black, had once been powerful, beautiful, and influential. Now, Draco thought, she'd been reduced to a screaming mess of insanity, driven mad by her own progeny and left with not a single remnant of her former being. As he headed down the large, majestic staircase that he'd once crossed with his friends Crabbe and Goyle, Draco's mind swirled around the subject of his mother, and how much he hated his father, his "uncle", and the brat Marquis for transforming someone he'd once loved into the wretched wraith awaiting him in the "Playroom".  
When all that separated Draco from his mother was a thick oak door, he stopped and listened. He could hear weeping, but nothing was rare in this house about weeping. Many times a day, the sounds of someone's (in Draco's opinion, pathetic) weeping could be heard throughout the house. Even now, Draco thought he could hear Hermione's cries from the Main Hall. He took a breath and set his face back into the neutral countenance he maintained almost all of the time, and opened the door.

Hermione cried out, "No, please, stop!" in a high toned voice that reverberated from the rafters and pealed like a necromancer's bells from the stones of the walls. Of course, her cries were futile and pointless, but lovely they sounded nontheless, in the eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange, who sat upon the girl, lying spread like the Vitruvian Man on the table, and secured once again by manacles and handcuffs, with long chains that reached the floor. Hermione's arm no longer bled freely, the bleeding having been stopped by Lucius' wand, but the flesh continued to gape open like a macabre frowning clown-face leer. Bellatrix's eyes smiled in a cold, dark sneer, sparkling in the candlelight as she looked down on her prey. Everyone else had exited the room, and the heavy majestic doors stood closed, a guard posted before them, yet outside of the Main Hall. Hermione looked desperately around her surroundings, remembering her days with her friends, Harry and Ron, growing up using this room as a dining hall. Happier times, before the war, she thought. Back to the present and Bellatrix was still straddling her hips comfortably seated, as if she had all the time in the world, and not a care to her name. Bellatrix smiled and bent down gracefully, licking a line up the side of Hermione's quivering neck. She breathed gently into Hermione's ear, whispering gently as her hands worked their magic unbuttoning Hermione's shirt as she struggled. Hermione was relieved to see that the manacles restraining her this time around were not nearly as sharp, and in her futile attempts to free herself, she did not cut her wrists.  
"Face it doll, you're going nowhere." Bellatrix said, her voice as lilting and mad as ever.  
"What have I done to you?" Hermione asked, instantly regretting the question. The time for such queries had come and gone with the winning of the war. The answer was simply. Though she may have done nothing to offend her captor personally, she had fought on the wrong side. More importantly, she had lost.  
"Does it matter? I'm here. You're there." Bellatrix said in her sing-song tone, gesturing on 'here' and 'there'. Hermione imagined how the scene must look to an outsider. A teen-aged girl lying across a long wooden table, thick curly hair fanned out around her head like a halo, shirt undone and nothing underneath. A grown woman, seated upon the teenager, her regally styled gown covering both of their legs beneath its black and purple skirts of tulle and organza. Her hair was held back by a sparkling obsidian butterfly barrette perched cleverly atop a bun and adequately keeping her hair from hanging in her face. The difference in their eyes was the most remarkable of all, however. As different as night and day, or dark and light. Hermione looked desperate, her eyes flicking wildly around the room to find an escape, or some form of aid, and Bellatrix looked like the lioness descending upon the zebra after months of starvation.  
"Please, no. No more." Hermione wept as she realized what Bellatrix was planning. Anything but that again.  
"All I hear is "please", luvvy. Nearly deaf, you see." Bellatrix the deviant smiled and winked at her captive, staring down at her and wondering where to start.

Draco knocked lightly on the door of the Playroom, hoping to not be heard. His prayers were denied, however, when a young child's voice piped up "Come in, Brother!". The voice was cheery and casual. Draco feared what was behind the door. He pushed it open and saw a scene he had expected. His mother was suspended in a macabre hammock of sorts, that hung from strong hooks in the stone ceiling and swung lightly, as if she'd just been having fun on a summer's day. Her face, however, showed the exact opposite...what parts he could see. Narcissa cowered under a blanket, yet her nose bled freely down the front of her nightgown and onto the floor. Her eyes shone from the darkness of the blanket, and she lay on her side, thumb in her mouth. Yet again, she'd been broken by a mere child.  
"What did you do to her, Marquis?" Draco asked the small child, appalled and disgusted. His own mother.  
"You've done worse, Brother." The child smiled and spun the wheels of a wooden toy train he cradled in his hands.  
"This is different. It's different, and you know it. What is wrong with you?" Draco said, his tone losing its composure as his anger soared.  
"How is it different? Blood is blood. Flesh is flesh. It's easy enough to play pretend."  
"Play pretend?"  
"Yes. If I know I have no conscience, it's easy to pretend that neither do they. Imagination is 99 of it, Brother. I could pretend that you, for example, murdered an entire orphanage full of Mudbloods. Not that I'd care, but if I did, I could then exact perfect torture upon you, using any instrument I'd like. It'd all be justified for me, and that is how I spend my nights sleeping peacefully."  
"You are a twisted little fuck." Draco's rage seeped out through his voice, and he knew that his cheeks were glowing pink, as they always did when he became agitated.  
"Nuh-uh-uh. You know better than to say things like that." Marquis smiled. The next thing Draco saw was the wooden train in his periphery, and a searing pain to his temple. He awoke on the floor, some time later, lying next to a pool of his mother's blood as she stared down at him.  
"Hello, Mother."  
"The trees, they don't listen. They simply don't, Lucius."  
"I know. I'll talk to them about that." Draco got his mother to her feet and lifted her up. Her weight had decreased by so much that carrying her was something akin to carrying Marquis. Even Hermione'd been heavier, and she had reached waif-like proportions. Carrying his mother, Draco headed for the nearest Prefect's Bathroom. He found the one in which Moaning Myrtle had liked to spy upon Prefects in various stages of dress and bathing and shoved open the door. The bathroom had not seen use in a long time, and Moaning Myrtle was long gone. The fate of the Hogwarts' ghosts was an unhappy one, and they lived on only in what portraits were left to commemorate them, much like the ancient headmasters of the school.  
He set Narcissa in the tub gently and ran warm water into it. As the tub filled, her white nightgown swirled around her and she ducked under the water. He laughed, because her antics reminded him of a child as she looked like an angel under the surface, her white-blonde hair floating around her, and her nightgown blown up and filled with water. She surfaced and took a deep breath, scrubbing at the blood on her face. Draco passed her a hand mirror and took up a washcloth, gently washing his mother's face clean of blood drawn by her own son, and inspecting the damage. Her nose didn't look broken, he thought, just bruised, and her eyes looked alright, if a little blackened. As his mother splashed and played in the water, Draco smiled, but really, his mind was drifting to the subject of Marquis, and what needed to be done about his little brother.

Hermione screamed as the searing heat slid inside of her, burning delicate flesh as it went. Bellatrix laughed maniacally, forcing the newly doused candle farther and farther inside of the squirming girl. The thick black taper had been pulled from a chandelier, and had been lit when it first penetrated Hermione.  
"Had enough?" Bellatrix asked, her voice laden with honey.  
"Yes! God, yes. Please!" Hermione shrieked, her own voice panicky and desperate.  
"Alright, I'll continue then!" Bellatrix laughed, a high, shrill cackle that pierced like a steel rod.  
And she did.


	8. Heart of Black

A/N: Two in a week? My god! What luck! Enjoy. Review, please, your reviews to me are like gasoline in an SUV.  
_I'm seven again, and in the bath, splashing and blowing bubbles with the soap suds. I think I'm old enough for baths alone now, but Uncle insists on keeping me safe, so he watches me. Reaching under the suds, he unplugs the bath stop, and something brushes my thigh, and more besides. The same way it does every night Uncle babysits.  
_Draco looked at his mother, peacefully relaxing in the warm water, and almost considered joining her. He thought of her in the days before the birth of her youngest son, of the powerful and cold woman she'd been, persuasive and manipulative as anything and beautiful as well. Even nine months pregnant with Marquis she exuded an air of beauty and power that could make a strong-willed man quiver. Draco searched hopefully in the woman before him for a sign of any of that once radiant command, and found none. How had such a strong will cowered to that of a mere _child_?  
The door opened with a crash, snapping Narcissa from her reverie and causing her to whip around, splashing Draco with lukewarm water in the process.  
"Hello, Mummy." Marquis stood at the door, hands clasped neatly behind his back, dressed in a tiny black suit. He looked rather like an undertaker, Draco thought.  
"You fuck off." Draco spat, his love for his mother and his hatred of his little brother completely trumping his common sense and survival skills.

"Ah. ah, ah." The young child said, his voice high and clear. "What will Uncle say?"

_I don't give a damn what Uncle thinks right now_, thought Draco.

_Yes, you do_. Snape's voice echoed in his mind, filling him with cold dread.  
He saw Marquis' thin lips curl in a smile, and knew that he, too, had heard Snape's words.

"Looks like you've another obligation, Draco." The child lisped, still smiling like a perfect, macabre porcelain doll. "I'll take over here."

"Thanks, really, but I've got her." Draco waved his wand and his mother's dripping gown no longer clung immodestly to her, the water siphoned away by magic.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" The child shrieked, pointing his tiny wand at his own mother and sending her flying into the air. Draco was left speechless as he watched his mother float gently above their heads, like some sort of thick cloud with white hair trailing down.

"Come along, Mummy." Marquis said, and with a flick of his wand, he levitated Narcissa out the door and down the hallway, singing a quiet song to himself, almost a Muggle tune, Draco thought, listening carefully. His stomach turned to stone as he realized how wrong he was, and how twisted that child had become.

_"Narcissa Black, Black, Black,_

_All driven mad, mad, mad,_

_By pain and blood, blood, blood,_

_By hate and love, love, love,_

_She cannot speak, speak, speak,_

_She cannot cry, cry, cry,_

_And so she waits, waits, waits,  
She waits to die, die, die."_

Draco turned and threw up onto the floor, sickened by his own flesh and blood. Never had he met such a twisted being that was still wholly human. Even He could take tips from Marquis, Draco thought, thinking a recant up quickly in case his mind was being monitored. As it happened, it was.

_"You think He could learn from my child?"_ Snape's voice coursed into his ear canal like oil from a well.

_"I think maybe you went too far, Snape."_

_"That's Professor Snape."_

_"Who are you kidding? Hogwarts School is dead! Dumbledore, thank Voldemort, is dead! And you continue to call yourself Professor."_

_"I'm simply asking for the respect that is due me. That's not too much, is it?"_ Snape's voice dripped with honey and Draco felt himself beginning to blush.

_"No, Uncle." He said, gritting his teeth as he replied._

_"Say it like you mean it."_

_"Sorry, Uncle."_

_"That's better."_

Hermione breathed heavily, trying to ignore the searing pain coursing through her veins, and the scarlet fluid leaving her body at an alarming rate.

"Whew." Said Bellatrix, lying next to her victim, her breathing also fast and heavy. "Looks like you've got a problem there." Bellatrix sat up slowly and gestured to the place between Hermione's legs.

"Please..."

"Not now darling, I'm exhausted." Bellatrix drawled, lying back and lacing her bloody fingers together over her stomach.

"Please, help me!" Hermione cried, making a noise somewhat like a young kitten as she watched the blood tumble from her. She attributed this painful wound to the bottle that had been forced into her, and now lay coated in blood and viscous fluid on the stone floor, discarded.

"Why me?" Hermione asked, really addressing the ceiling of stars more than anyone within the room.

"You'll know soon enough." Bellatrix sighed, sitting up.

"You're disgusting." She said, waving her wand over Hermione's pool of blood and, like Lucius, stopping the bleeding, but leaving the wounds open.

"Can I trust you not to run away?"

"Y-yes." Hermione said, her voice catching.

"Of course. You're just stupid enough to try to bolt."

Bellatrix threw a full Body-Bind curse onto Hermione and levitated the girl beside her as she walked--really, floated--through the room and out the door, like a child with some twisted carnival balloon.

"Time for a shower."


	9. Meanings

In the shower, Bellatrix released Hermione from the "Petrificus Totalus" she'd placed her under. Hermione winced as she stood, swaying in place from the pain blooming from between her legs. She longed for her wand, longed for the ability to heal it.

"How ya doing?" Bellatrix said, surprisingly.

"Splendidly." Hermione said, her tone dry.

"Oh ho! She has a sense of humour!" The older witch cackled, her laugh tinted with evil and malice.

Hermione stood with her face in the shower's spray, drinking in the warm water that rained down upon her. Bellatrix surprised her once more. Her heart sank as the witch removed her own robes, and the dress she wore underneath them. Stepping out of her underclothes and hanging her black, lace bra on the hook attached to the wall, Bellatrix shook down her hair and joined Hermione in the warmth and the small cubicle where Hermione had once felt safe now felt cramped and claustrophobic.

She looked at Bellatrix, the woman who'd tormented her so. She was not much taller than Hermione, who stood fairly average at 5'6. Her body was narrow, breasts small, stomach flat, and icily pale.

"Isn't this your sort of thing?" Bellatrix asked, caressing Hermione's side with a delicate, yet sharp, fingernail.

Was this her sort of thing? Hermione asked herself the same question. Then she remembered.

The last shower she'd had before this one, she had also not been alone. Showering with Ginny had always been something she looked forward to, an activity not to be frowned upon. She could remember the scent of the lemon verbena soap the two used on each other, the sharp, almost masculine shampoo that Ginny used to wash her red curls, and the taste of her kiss as they held each other under the water that rolled down their backs and breasts, pooling in the tub beneath them. She remembered that last shower, how Ginny's fingers had slipped ever so slightly while washing her, and how it had gone from a simple shower to much more than, with the pair of them making love gently in a warm bath that followed their dual shower. She dissociated into this memory as Bellatrix took it upon herself to soap up a washcloth and begin to, not too gently, wash Hermione's bloody body. She could feel Ginny's fingers, Ginny's tongue. She could taste her come in her mouth, and she could remember every detail, down to the temperature of the bath, she felt. Anything to keep from the present. Anything at all.

"Where is Ginny?" She uttered, the question that had been burning in the back of her mind, and the front as well, for so long now.

Bellatrix stopped washing Hermione's thigh and looked up.

"Why, I don't know!" She exclaimed, putting on an expression of ignorance. Clearly feigned. She turned back to scrubbing at the dried blood that had collected on the insides of Hermione's thighs. "So much mess. Silly girl." She muttered, rubbing the brownish/scarlet stains away.

"You do know. I know you do."

"Do you now?" Bellatrix asked, still coating her tone with sugary-sweet innocence.

Hermione spat water out, the stream having run into her mouth and thickened her words. Bellatrix smiled.

"How can you not? You're with _him_!"

"Now, which "him" do you mean, per se?"

"All of them. Draco. Lucius."

"That's not an 'all', dear, that's a 'both'."

"Whatever." Hermione said, using the teenage phrase she hated so. "You still know." She added, petulantly.

"Maybe I do." Finally, the truth, Hermione thought.

"What'll you give me to tell you?"

"Give you?!" Hermione asked. "Look at what you've already taken from me!" She exclaimed, gesturing down towards the lower half of her body.

"Yes...but that was taken. Not willingly given, you see. You must have something I could take, in exchange for such precious information." Bellatrix said, sensually, her voice coating Hermione in a feeling of sick.

Hermione grabbed Bellatrix's face and kissed her, firmly, surprised, almost, when Bellatrix returned the kiss. They stood, entwined, for several minutes, trading bites and turns, one drawing blood, which mixed between the two of them in a coppery flavour.

"She's in Hogsmeade." Bellatrix said breathlessly when they broke apart.

"Where in Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked, her voice dogged and intent.

"The Shrieking Shack."

Hermione's heart sank. She knew of the Shack, and how to get there. It had not been easy the first time, Ron, dear Ron, had broken his leg, and it would not be easy the second. Especially not considering the security on the castle alone. She couldn't imagine what monsters could be roaming the grounds she'd once traversed so carefree and young with her friends.

"What do they want with her?" Hermione demanded, seizing an opportunity. Grabbing Bellatrix by the shoulders, she pinned her to the wall. Hermione may not have been a big girl, but she was a slight bit bigger than Bellatrix, who was emaciated from her years in Azkaban, and who had never been a particularly generous woman in any way, including size. As she held her, pinned, she punched the glass shower door as hard as she could, smiling as it shattered, and bloodied her fist. Snatching a sharp shard from the metal framing, she held it to Bellatrix's throat, pushing down just enough to free a few beads of crimson.

"What. Do. They want with her?" Hermione asked again, her tone more determined, more driven.

"You." Came the choked reply.

"Me?" Hermione thought. Why would they have her here, in this castle of torture, when they clearly wanted her there? Was this just a pit-stop on Malfoy's cruel little journey? Hermione's eyes blazed with fury as she glared into Bellatrix's eyes. She rammed the shard home, impaling Bellatrix's swan-like neck in one swift motion. Blood spurted from the wound, and Bellatrix fell, having lost Hermione's aid for standing, to the ground.

Hermione stepped through and over the broken glass and out of the shower, while Bellatrix lay on the tile floor, dark red blood pumping from the wound in her neck, and mingling with the crystal clear water around her. She gasped and sputtered as Hermione dressed, donning the older woman's robes and shoes.

On a last thought, Hermione turned, realizing just how cruel she'd been.

"_Avada Kedavra_." She uttered, putting full meaning behind the powerful killing curse. Moody'd said once that you have to mean the Unforgivables, which were no longer so unforgivable.

Oh, did she mean it. 


	10. Gargoyle Doors

Hermione crept through the hallways, her dark hair dripping uncomfortably down her back as she went along. She threw up the hood of Bellatrix's robes, hoping her disguise would allow her to pass the hired head a hundred meters in front of her. He stood, guarding a door that was ominous and appeared to leer. As she got closer, she realized that it did, in fact, leer. It was carved with an ornate woodcarving of gargoyles, smiling as they committed atrocious deeds upon varying villagers. Hermione shuddered internally as she looked at it, careful to keep her eyes up, but her head down, as she entered the room. The guard before her did not take notice, she thanked Someone for his being stupid enough to base his knowledge of her identity on the clothes she wore.

Inside the room, Hermione gasped. Fortunately, she was alone. Or was she? A cabinet against the back wall greatly resembled the ancient torture device known as the Iron Maiden, and the dark pool of liquid beneath it made her gag. She suppressed the vomiting and gingerly explored the room, pushing the hood back. Her damp curls shook into her face as she milled around, examining the devices. Each shone like new metal, but yet they were old steel, turned black with age, and some tinted red with old blood. She reached out to touch a manacle, so similar to the ones she'd been strung up in just days ago, and jumped back as the chains jangled of their own accord. She held back a shriek and realized something. Feeling around, she could make out the shape of a human head, that grunted, though it appeared to be made of naught but air. She grabbed a handful of the material that covered the apparent body and yanked. Off came the Invisibility Cloak to reveal an old, old friend.

Ron hung by his arms, legs dangling dangerously just above the floor, stomach drawn open like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth as she screamed, falling to the floor. Whoever had done this to him had just barely had time to leave the room before she got there, for Ron's lungs, barely visible, pink and glistening with blood, still heaved laboriously. Fighting back tears, Hermione got to her feet. Ron's face twisted in pure agony, and he tried to scream, despite the ball gag shoved cruelly into his mouth. The gag was so large that it had torn the corners of his mouth, and twin streams of blood ran down his chest to the gaping wound in his gut. Hermione tried to stroke his cheek, the only part of him still free of blood and pain, and he wriggled away as best he could, drawing another scream from his full throat as the torn muscles in his torso twisted and sent messages of pain. The pain, the torture they'd made him endure, it had driven him mad. He no longer recognized his friend, his one-time paramour, and that twisted Hermione's heart. What twisted it more was what she knew she needed to do. Drawing a breath, she pulled Bellatrix's wand out from the pocket of the robes she wore, and shakily, looking into Ron's eyes, she focused on the pain and suffering that the blue orbs were immersed in.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" She shrieked, delivering the curse she'd just performed on the cruel woman who'd raped her brutally to the boy she'd once loved. In an instant, Ron stopped struggling, and the lungs ceased to inflate, and Hermione could swear she saw a wisp of soul floating up and away from the hanging corpse. She felt it, if she didn't see it. A warm, grateful feeling in her stomach and heart that swelled and made her feel almost powerful, strong, and she knew, in that moment, that she would make it through this.

Or would she? Hermione flinched as she heard footsteps in the hallway, approaching the Gargoyle Door. She looked around for a place to hide, and then remembered the Invisibility Cloak. Whipping it over her shoulders, she quickly swept into a corner and huddled, not wanting to see who was coming into the room.

Lucius Malfoy's voice carried through the door as he greeted the meaty guard at the door, and seconds later, the doors swung open, revealing the beautiful man in all his glory. He wore a black cape, fastened with ornate silver hooks and eyes, and beneath that, black flowing robes made of a fabric like velvet that hung perfectly over his slim frame and accentuated all the right parts of his body. Hermione couldn't help but notice that his hair shone in the dim light of the candelabras that hung about the room. He was gorgeous, and she felt ashamed that she couldn't hide the feeling that rose in her stomach, a feeling she'd only had for a couple of people in her life. Hermione was not easily attracted to people, and when she was, she knew it was intense.

Lucius looked over at Ron's hanging body.

"So the pathetic whiner finally passed, eh?" He said, to no one in particular. Hermione shuddered to think of how many other people he might actually be talking to, how many others were stashed around the room. Hermione practically crossed her fingers in an effort to wish that he would not deduce that Ron's death had not, in fact, been at his hand, but at the hand of another.

Lucius stepped towards the body of Ron, which still dripped blood and thicker things to the floor beneath him. Pulling a key out of thin air, he unlocked the manacles, and the corpse fell to the floor, crumpled.

"_Evanesco_." He uttered, pointing his wand at the form of what had once been Hermione's friend. The blood and the body vanished in one shimmer, and Lucius slipped his wand back into his small staff, with the silver head shaped like a serpent. He strode across the room, cloak and robes sweeping behind him, gently over the floor, and to a cabinet.

The cabinet was carved of black wood, probably ebony, Hermione thought unnecessarily, and she gasped as he swept open the doors. A shock of red curls billowed out the doors and a pale faced girl, dressed in barely anything at all, tumbled out. Hermione silently clapped her hands over her face and mouthed one word, breathing it like a prayer.

"_Ginny_."


	11. Down the Rabbit Hole

So Bellatrix had lied, Hermione thought, stricken with mixed-feelings about seeing her beloved Ginny sprawled at Lucius Malfoy's feet. Why had Bellatrix lied? Oh, right, because she was an evil bitch. Hermione felt slight pleasure in terming her existence as a "was", as she corrected herself. She turned her attention back to the scene playing out in front of her, stopped dissociating, and focused on the red hair and pale skin that was shaking on the floor before the blonde wizard who could only be kin to the Devil.

"Get up." Lucius muttered, nudging Ginny's limp frame with a booted foot.

"Get up!" He said, slightly more shrilly. At this, Ginny began to pull herself together, and Hermione could almost see her gathering her limbs in the order they needed to be in, and rising to her feet. She swayed where she stood, and Lucius thrust out a hand to her shoulder to steady her on her feet.

Ginny kept her head down, hair falling in her face as she stared, apparently, at the floor. It took Hermione a moment to notice what exactly Ginny stared at. A series of three narrow cracks graced the floor on a square-like shape, with a small ridge in the rock the floor was comprised of making a handle. Hermione recognized such a contraption from her first year at Hogwarts, only eight years before. A trapdoor. Only, instead of being guarded by Fluffy, it was guarded by a whole different type of Hellbeast.

Lucius eyeballed Ginny's frail body, which had decreased greatly in size, not that it had had much size to lose. Her dress hung loosely from her frame, and as far as dresses go, it was fairly tattered. It looked as if it had been worn by several girls ahead of her, and as Hermione noticed the cuffs around her wrists, and chains around her ankles, she realized that Ginny had been enslaved by them, in her time as ransom for Hermione's own capture. But what kind of slavery? Hermione barely wanted to know.

Though she'd find out soon enough.

Lucius cast off his robes, tossing the black velvet carelessly, and magically, to a hook that hung on the wall. Beneath them, he wore a fine linen shirt, almost Renaissance in design, and tight black leather pants. His blonde hair cascaded down his back in a river of yellow, and just lightly fingered the waistband of the pants that moved and looked like a fluid second skin on his legs and ass. Hermione suppressed the feelings that rose in her once more, and tried to look away. However, she found herself unable to as he began to unbutton the shirt and soon it, too, joined the robes on the hook on the wall. His bare chest shone white in the candlelight, perfectly sculpted and firm. His stomach flat, divided into six equal parts, his chest perfect, with little fat lingering anywhere on his frame. Like father, like son, Hermione thought, unable to stop herself in time to realize how she was ogling the man who was more than certainly about to abuse her girlfriend.

She was right in her final assumption. Hermione saw Ginny shudder and shake as Lucius stared down at her, not needing to look at himself to undo any part of his ensemble. Stripping himself of the leather pants, he wore nothing underneath. Hermione closed her eyes as she noticed how hard, how strong he was, greater than any she'd ever seen, and it was all she could do to keep quiet. She longed to rise to her feet, ride in like a white knight and rescue Ginny, but she knew that doing so would certainly bring about the end of both girls. She closed her eyes as Ginny's smock-like dress, which Hermione just then realized was little more than a large pillowcase, fell to the floor, revealing her body, covered in whip marks and other assorted wounds. A massive bruise, shaped like a large mouth, stained the inside of her left thigh, and the skin in that area was reddish in colour, as if bloodstained, almost like someone had bitten down and shaken their head while gripping her flesh in their teeth. Hermione felt hot tears stream down her face as she watched Ginny's body quivering at Lucius' every touch, her breasts pale, bruised, and shrunken, her ribs obscenely protruding through the luminously white flesh that covered them. Hermione closed her eyes as she saw Lucius lay Ginny down on the floor, covering her with himself, and her own gasp was covered by a scream torn free, painfully, from Ginny's hoarse throat. Hermione felt herself beginning to fade away, shrinking like Alice in the rabbit-hole from reality, as she remembered...

_Chained to the wall, she couldn't move as the blood trickled down her arms, leaking from cut wrists. Malfoy stood before her, his clothes forgotten in a pile across the room, himself hard and long, thick and ready as she tried her hardest to stay as far away from him as possible. A valiant effort, but a difficult one when chained to a solid rock wall. As she struggled, Malfoy surprised her by unchaining her legs, and then her wrists, but her heart fell when she found that she was little able to move. Her muscles had temporarily stiffened, and motion was nearly impossible, except for pathetic clutches of her bloodied fingers, which she scraped along Malfoy's arms, and when he lay her down and lay across her, his back. She screamed as loud as she ever had when he forced himself inside her with a sickening squelch, and screamed again as he withdrew, tinted with pink, a colour that she was certain would darken as long as he kept this up..._

Hermione had dissociated, and she didn't know for how long. Her breath was heavy with the pain the memory recalled, and she berated herself for having gone away in such a manner.

Before her, the scene that was to be had played out. Lucius had come and gone, so to speak, and Ginny lay on the floor, dress revealing her indecently and eyes closed, apparently unconscious. Hermione shirked the Invisibility Cloak, and, pulling up her hood, slid across the stone floor on her hands and knees. If any time would be a bad time for someone else to come into the room, this was it.

She bent her head over the crumpled form of Ginny, eyeing her up and down, examining her wounds. The red stains between her thighs were unmistakable, and made the pain between Hermione's own legs surge once more in empathy. Besides those, there are more and more bruises blooming along her legs and exposed lower torso. Afraid to touch her to inspect the girl further, Hermione peered over her body to her back, where she saw sharp whip welts, blooming red and some leaking blood and lymph as they rose painfully.

Ginny began to stir, her voice coming roughly into her throat once again. Hermione, her face turned away from Ginny's at the moment her eyes opened, startled the girl, and she attempted to crab-crawl away from the form that she thought to be Bellatrix. The robe was deceiving, Hermione thought, quickly as she turned to Ginny and pulled back the hood.

"I...I thought you were her!" Ginny cried, her throat choking in a dry sob, as she'd cried all the tears she had left in her.

"She's dead, Ginny." Hermione said, running her fingers gently down her lover's cheek, a tear coming to her own eye.

"I thought I'd never see you again." Ginny whispered, her voice hoarse from her screams.

"Well, here I am. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, Hermione promised.

"But we are."


	12. House of Secrets

"How?" Ginny's voice rasped.

"That…I don't know, honestly." Hermione said resentfully, the cogs and wheels in her mind turning as fast as imaginably possible. Then she remembered; the Cloak she'd hidden under, while Lucius Malfoy committed his unspeakable acts.

Scrambling over to the cloak, she collected the gossamer-thin fabric in her arms and crawled back to where Ginny lay, still unable to stand on her own. She gingerly helped the girl back into her pillowcase shift, cursing silently at Lucius and the others for dressing poor Ginny like a substandard house elf. Ginny winced as Hermione worked her arm through the holes torn crudely in the fabric as sleeves, and Hermione noticed a small handprint bruise, that could not be from any of the adults.

"The child." She managed to say, croaking like a crone as her throat was so tired.

Child? What child? How could a child do such damage? Hermione thought, and was surprised when Ginny answered her. She had spoken the words aloud without even noticing.

"He's not your ordinary brat." She smiled, the expression not reaching her eyes, which were hollow, haunted, and dark.

"We'll worry about that later." Hermione said gallantly, trying to pull Ginny to her feet. After a few struggling moments, they managed an awkward pose, Ginny leaning against Hermione for support and crying out every other step from the pain of her injuries. Hermione could sympathize, she was no fast healer herself.

"If we're going to do this, you've got to be quiet." Hermione muttered, instantly regretting what she'd said. It wasn't Ginny's fault.

"I'm trying." Ginny retorted, her tone meant to be strong, but really only coming out as weary. Hermione thought for a moment. Then the right spell occurred to her.

"_Silencio_." She uttered, touching the tip of Bellatrix's wand to Ginny's bruised throat. Ginny looked at her as if to say, "What the fuck?", but of course she couldn't.

"It's only temporary. Scream all you want. _They_ won't hear you." Hermione said, looking into Ginny's eyes and stroking her cheek in comfort. Ginny nodded as Hermione threw the Invisibility Cloak over her shoulders, so that only her red haired head showed.

"Now, you're going to follow behind me, holding onto my robes as best as you can, alright?"

Ginny nodded.

"Good."  
Hermione pulled the hood of the Cloak over Ginny's head, causing her girlfriend to disappear entirely. Taking her by the hand, she led her to the gargoyle doors that gave exit to the chamber. At the doors, she dropped her hand and guided it to the side of her robes, giving her a discreet section of fabric to clutch as they went along, so she'd know that she still had her in tow.

"Step softly." Was all Hermione said as she pulled the hood back over her own head and opened the door. The guard was gone. She glanced around suspiciously, looking for any sign of life in the hallway. There was none.

They crept along the hall, slowly inching their way across the stone floor, hoping and praying that none of the Dark wizards of the household would come along. Hermione held her breath when she heard quick, small footsteps, but released the air as she watched a small house-elf pad past her, undoubtedly on some errand or another. She turned to watch, to make sure he'd 

gone, and she saw him enter the gargoyle doors, closing them tightly behind him. What could he be doing in such a dark room? House-elves were not violent or evil by nature, but could be corrupted by Dark masters, and those bearing ill will in general. She heard Ginny breathe a sigh of relief as well, and the two progressed down the hall. This corridor, it never ends, thought Hermione. But the end of the line had to come sometime.

Once again, she heard footsteps, and this time, humming. A sweet little tune it sounded like, almost like a children's rhyme. She then remembered Ginny's words, her fear. "The child.", echoed in her mind as the footsteps drew closer. Then she saw him.

Barely taller than the previous house elf, the little boy stood before her, playing with a small toy and humming as he meandered along the hallway. She could feel Ginny shrinking behind her, and had to restrain herself from reaching out an arm to stay her. The boy's hair was black, his skin fair, and the nose in the center of his face unmistakable. The child was the progeny of Severus Snape, no doubt about it.

"Hello Auntie." The child said, beaming at Hermione's hooded face.

"Yes, hello, pet." Hermione replied, trying her best to imitate Bellatrix's Cockney method of speech.

"Is he dead yet?" The boy asked, his voice chipper and seemingly innocent. What a macabre question for a child to ask, Hermione thought.

Knowing who he meant, she decided it best to just answer him.

"Yes, he is." She answered, keeping her words to a minimum and trying to step past the boy. He side-stepped to block her path.

"I know." He uttered, his voice changing from child-like and sweet to something darker, resonating with evil. His eyes flared black as he glared into her face, which she hoped was accurately masked.

"And you wouldn't let me watch." He pouted, the evil look that had flitted across his features dimming slightly in his disappointment.

"Yes, well, grown-up things. Must be going." Hermione said, edging past the child with Ginny narrowly avoiding touching him.

"You know you're not fooling anyone."

She turned to look at the boy, who stood, arms crossed, toy forgotten, in the middle of the corridor.

"Oh?" She asked, deciding that the best course of action was merely to play dumb.

He giggled as he skipped away, heading in the direction of the bathroom. Hermione whispered to Ginny under her breath.

"Run."

Together they ran through the corridors, turning left, then right, then left again as Ginny tried her best to hold onto the robes that whipped around every corner so quickly. Hermione could see a door ahead of them, and she prayed it was the right one.

They slammed through the door, tumbling into a pile of limbs and fabric into a dark room. Hermione could make out the shape of a large bed in the center, and unlit candelabras all around. A form lay crumpled in the corner, knees drawn up, and a small choking noise came from it.

"Out, out, out." The voice, a male one, muttered as he slammed his hand against his head.

"Can you help me?" She heard the voice call out, and recognized it, but barely. Draco Malfoy had changed, drastically, from the last time she'd seen him. Coming closer to him, she noted that his physical condition was not much better than Ginny's, and she wondered what exactly had been done to him. He was clothed, better than Ginny, of course. Wearing a tight black tshirt and jeans, he was barefoot and damp, as if he too had recently showered. Though, she thought dryly, I doubt he's left anyone in a pool of their own blood, trickling down the drain. She held back a sadistic laugh as she watched him. Being tortured changes a person.

"Who do you think I am?" Hermione asked Malfoy, sinking to his level. She heard Ginny settle herself on the bed, and Malfoy's head barely turned in the direction of the sound. Thank Gods, Hermione thought.

"Hermione. You've come, finally."

"What? What do you mean, finally?"

"I'm your mission."

"I have a mission?"

"Don't play stupid, you know you're here for a reason. If you think the Weasley girl is it, you're certainly undeserving of the grades you received."

"Alright. I'm here for a reason. What about you?"

"You're here to save me."


	13. Save You

"Save you

"Save you? Why would I want to do that? You tortured and raped me, and you're basically little more than a twisted sadistic fuck!"  
"If you had any sense of self-preservation, you'd shut up and listen to me." Malfoy's tone was even, almost impatient, and quiet. Hermione shut up.

"I'm listening."  
"Good. I'm not pleading for you in some pathetic manner, you know. I could do this without you, I just have the vague idea that you'd like to get out of here as well. Am I incorrect?"

"No. But what about Ginny?"

"The Weasley witch can tag along, if she must."  
"Why do you want out of here so badly? This is the side you chose, a world you created. You and your father."

"My father, exactly. My father created this world. I simply live in it, and do what I need to do to survive."

"Please tell me this isn't one of those situations where the villain reveals himself to be good." Hermione said, her tone almost bored.

"No, believe me, it isn't. I've never felt better than I did when I had you on that floor and screaming, and the image is quite the happy memory." He sneered.

"What is WRONG with you?"

"You want the list? I really could provide you with one." Malfoy drawled.

"No, thank you. Why did you do it?"

"Pay it forward."

"What?"

"What do you think? Pay. It. Forward. I was raised to believe this, in every way, and I do, to the letter."

"You really are twisted." Hermione said, taken aback. How could this boy, curled up before her, be the sociopathic rapist who tortured her so?

"Thank you, can I proceed?" He asked, his tone impatient.

Hermione nodded. Behind her, she heard Ginny sink onto the bed, and assumed she'd given up on trying to stand. Draco heard her as well, it appeared, but said nothing.

"Whose room is this?" Hermione asked, looking around at the velvet draperies, the intricate and ornate carvings on the bedposts.

"My mother's. Before."  
"Before what?"

"Before, that's all. It's none of your business, Mudblood." He snarled.

She nodded apologetically, knowing that she shouldn't have pried into his personal business. Malfoy was like a hornet. Vile and offensive anyway, this multiplied ten-fold when someone got too close. Which is exactly what Hermione had done.

Malfoy began to shake his head rapidly, dashing it against the stone wall until his white-blonde hair was tinted with the slight red of blood.

"What are you doing? Stop it!" Hermione cried, reaching out to grab Draco's head and hold it still.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me." Malfoy snapped, grasping Hermione's wrist and twisting. She cried out in pain as something internally wrenched.

"Sorry!" She squealed, wiggling her thin arm out of his clutch. His eyes sparkled with malice as he freed her, and she understood immediately that the rage burning within the young man was a fire brighter than her lone spark. Something had deeply affected Malfoy, something she had no capabilities to comprehend, not right now. She'd gone from innocence, from love and a world that may not have been peaceful, but was certainly safer than this castle, to this darkness. She'd killed someone, taken a life in cold blood, and she'd put her best friend to death, without a moment's hesitation. It struck her then that none of them were who they once knew any longer, and change could be harsher than she'd imagined.

"So, what…" Hermione said, trailing off as Malfoy glared at her once again.

"Hush, I'm trying to concentrate."

_No, fuck you, I won't do what you tell me. Not anymore. You'll never find me._ He hissed, his voice barely audible, barely a decibel louder than a breath.

"Draco?"

"Shut up!" He roared, throwing Hermione back with such force that she hit the other wall. She cringed at the pain exploding in her head and spine, and cracked her neck. Who was Malfoy talking to? What did they want him to do?

_She's dead? Good. Leave her that way, and I hope you follow soon_. Malfoy rasped again, his voice volatile and angry. Who could he be talking to? Hermione wondered, her head still throbbing from her brief flight across the room. She jumped as she felt a warm hand cradling the back of her head and stopped just short of scuttling away from the form, for remembrance of Ginny's presence in the room. Ginny tossed the cloak's hood away from her head, causing Hermione to laugh a little at the "disembodied" head "floating" before her. In the background, she could hear Malfoy continuing to hiss. She wondered aloud to Ginny what she'd already thought.

"Who is he talking to?"

Ginny shrugged in reply until Hermione remembered; the spell.

"_Vox_." She uttered, tapping Ginny's throat with the borrowed wand she still held. Ginny coughed and cleared her throat as her voice came flooding back to the resonating cords that held it.

"Thank you." She said, to which Hermione nodded and then winced at the pain welling in her head.

"That was stupid." Ginny teased, gently stroking Hermione's still moist hair.

"Hermione?" Draco's voice came from the opposite side of the room, where he now cowered, his domineering aura having wilted to one of fear. Hermione scrambled over to her enemy, her rapist, and answered him, careful not to touch him, or so much as come close enough to invade his personal space.

"I'm here."

"Make him go away." His voice came quietly as he shook before her.

"Who?" She asked, gently probing the young man before her for information, her curiosity piqued to learn who had nearly broken this vicious boy.

"No one." He snapped, rising to his feet.

"How do we get out of here?" Hermione asked, carefully changing the subject.

"Easily, surprisingly." Draco strolled to the elegant oriental rug beside the bed, kicking the fabric aside and bending to the floor. Pressing his wand to a crack in the stone, he muttered;

"_Alohomora_."

The crack became wider as a thin slab of slate, cleverly disguised to look like the thick stone around it rose up to reveal a man-sized hole. Draco slipped down into the hole, his narrow shoulders barely making the clearance on each side. Hermione beckoned to Ginny, who clambered down off the high bed and joined her lover, shedding the thin cloak that had covered her. One at a time, they wriggled down the small hole, surprised to find dirt floor at the bottom. Malfoy stooped ahead of them, wand lit and at the ready, and they followed. Hermione had to stoop just slightly, less than Malfoy, but Ginny had always been tiny, and just made the height clearance for the ceiling of the filthy tunnel. Snaking along under the old Hogwarts castle, Hermione shuddered at every crunch as she stepped on the skeletons of small rodents that had lost their way in the winding tunnels and perished. They came across a small chamber, deep in the underground, and Malfoy stopped.

"We can rest here." He said, for it had been a long time that the trio had walked, and he knew he, at least was tired.

"Yes. Rest." A voice murmured out of the dark. Following the voice came billowing black robes, and a sallow face, with a sharply hooked nose.

Snape.


	14. Fractured

"Run!" Hermione cried, pulling at Ginny's arm. Ginny had stiffened at the sight of Snape, and that behaviour made Hermione wonder, what could Snape have done to her?

"Come on!" She shouted, turning to run. She felt strong arms grip her around the middle and swing her around, her skirt flying up from the motion.

"What?" Her tone was aghast as she looked into the face of Malfoy.

"End of the line, Granger." He sneered, his face contorted in a sick smile, laden with pleasure and satisfaction.

It was then that Hermione realized. It had all been a trick. Or had it? Malfoy's performance was too perfect, too tormented to be fake. Wasn't it? Her mind raced, trying to wrap itself around this horrible conclusion. Malfoy smiled, gripping her arm, having set her down and allowed her to smooth out her clothing. Ginny remained frozen, staring headlong at Snape.

"Marquis is such a good little boy. Unlike you, Draco." Snape scoffed, as the child stepped out from the shadows.

"I brought her, didn't I?" Malfoy said, his tone defensive. How could his "uncle" sneer so upon such a great capture?  
"You let too much slip, idiot boy." Snape crossed to where the trio stood, and delivered a sharp slap to Malfoy's pale, pointed face. Malfoy released Hermione and sank to the floor.

"Forgive me."

"Forgive you, what?"

"Forgive me, sir."

"That's better." Snape said, kicking Malfoy in the gut and leaving him writhing on the floor.

"What shall I do with you?" He said, directing this question at Hermione, who stood, terrified, before him.

"What do you think, Ginny?" Snape asked, strolling to the redhead and caressing her cheek. The girl flinched at his touch, though her facial expression did not change. The flinch Hermione was grateful for, for it meant that Ginny was still there, still inside her own body.

Ginny smiled then, her rosy lips twisting into a sneer that bore nothing but evil. Hermione's eyes widened as she opened her mouth to speak. Her voice came, strong, and not at all the hoarse rasping that had overcome her after Lucius' attack. It was almost seductive in a way, and before Hermione's eyes, she began to change. Her hair became sleek and shining, the curls falling down her back in neat ringlets. Her eyes shone, no longer haunted, but dark and deep, bottomless pits of onyx. The pillowcase fell away, and briefly she stood, unclothed, her body no longer coated in purple and blue marks and red gashes, but merely pale and thin, beautiful even now. She closed her eyes and a close fitting bodice encased her torso, followed by a deep crimson skirt that settled around her like a bell. She was beautiful, a dark princess, a goddess before them. And she was no longer Ginny Weasley. Something inside her had died, replacing itself with the deep, twisting agony of darkness, of the pain she'd been subjected to. And like a phoenix from the ashes, she had risen, carving out something new, something dark, and something volatile.

"_Crucio_!" She shrieked, pointing her wand at Snape as she cried out, laughing maniacally as he fell to the floor, clutching at the dirt in pain.

"You...bitch...kill...you."

"Darling, I would _love_ to see you try." She said, her voice seductive and strong, lilting slightly on "love" and revealing just how amused this all made her.

Hermione shrank back against the wall. Who was this girl, this great and terrible beauty before her? Was there any trace of Ginny left inside?

"Run." She uttered to Hermione, her eyes flaring like a candle as she turned to the quivering girl.

Hermione did as she was told and fled the room, hearing Ginny's sick cackle and Snape's wretched screams. Malfoy appeared behind her, his footsteps echoing as hers did in the barren tunnel.

"What WAS that?!" He asked, his voice incredulous.

"That...was the world your father created. Fuck this all, fuck your torment. This is what it costs. She's gone."

_Gone? Child, I'm not gone. I'm not going anywhere. _She heard Dark Ginny's voice in her head, as if she controlled Hermione's every thought.

"No, not more of this shit." Malfoy said. "This is my head. MINE!" He appeared to be losing his composure as he cried out the last word.

Hermione heard, audibly and externally, the shrill cry of the Killing Curse as Snape met his maker, and then the whimpering of a child.

"The child!" She cried, fearing for the welfare of Marquis.

"Heh. What do you know of the "child"?" Malfoy muttered, cradling his head as he sank to the floor, sliding down the wall.

"That she's about to kill him." Hermione said.

_You always were such a bleeding heart._

Ginny did away with the boy with another shriek, and appeared instantaneously in front of Hermione and Draco.

"Who's next?" She said, her face aglow with triumph. The girl Hermione had loved was gone, and instead, this monster remained. A beautiful demon of a woman, who had done away with all Hermione had ever cared for so truly, all she'd known. Hermione felt a cavernous pain swell in her chest, and sank to the floor as Ginny disappeared, soon followed by the sound of screams.

It was never said, the death toll at Hogwarts Castle that night. All that was found were countless corpses, littering the old stone floors and furniture, as if they'd merely been going about their daily business, when cut down. No one could lament the loss of Lucius Malfoy, and when Bellatrix Lestrange was found, facedown in the drain of the still-running shower, the Minister of Magic sighed a breath of relief. Ministry officials combed the building, pulling one survivor from the tunnels beneath the school, Draco Malfoy, shaken and speechless, remained in St. Mungo's for the rest of his life, muttering about nonsense, though sometimes truth. The last body found in the castle was that of a brown-haired girl, dressed in a skirt and blouse, who, it is said, haunts the grounds even now, ten years later. The girl who died of a broken heart.


End file.
